


The Six Don'ts

by PandoraButler



Series: Sherlock One-Shots [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Story, F/M, Freeform, M/M, Season/Series 04, after episode 1 but before episode 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12739983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraButler/pseuds/PandoraButler
Summary: Takes place after/during Series Four Episode 1: The Six Thatchers. This was before the rest of the series aired. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen but I had to fix the thing. Okay? Okay.





	The Six Don'ts

_"Oh, I might be able to surprise you yet," the lady's mouth twitched upward, a sort of smirk on her face. She fired that gun, aiming for Sherlock, but she knew that he wouldn't die. Mary wouldn't let him die, **no**. If Sherlock, the great detective, died here...if Sherlock the great detective, died, the most important person to John, Mary could never forgive herself, even after all of the crimes she had done. Despite having shot the male herself, she knew for sure then, that he would live. But now,  **now** , she wouldn't leave that to chance, she wouldn't let this crazy secretary have her way._

_Mary blocked the bullet from hitting Sherlock. A movie-death was a fitting name for this scene. Blood, lots of blood, gasping, prolonged moments of speech. She was dying, a death that Sherlock tried so desperately to prevent. John walked into the scene, taking control over her. Sherlock felt that he should at least be the one to be with her, in her last moments. Sherlock stood, his mind processing the scene. He could hear the muttering of voices next to him, the silent sorrow that filled the room. Sherlock could hear the water dripping from a pipe in the aquarium somewhere. He could hear all these things, but refused to listen to her last words. Trying to focus on something else, anything else, he tried to ignore her._

_He couldn't. This was Mary, the woman who had saved John while he couldn't be there, the woman who brought him back from his despair._

_The woman who married him._

_Sherlock, with his emotional distance, could not fill Mary's shoes. Sherlock knew this. Sherlock knew that he wouldn't be able to save John from himself. Sherlock was a self-destructive man._

_He who cannot save himself, cannot save others._

_That was his conclusion, even if he desperately wanted to save John from this grief, he didn't know where to start. Reaching out, to try and speak, John silenced him. Words harsh and cold, unaccustomed to hearing the gentle John so angry, Sherlock did silence himself. John had already begun his self-destruction._

_" **Don't. You. Dare.** "_

_Those three simple words were enough to crush the detective's soul. The last ounce of anything he had left, his last hope, was gone. John wasn't going to forgive him. Sherlock had dared to make that promise, he had dared to try and protect Mary from fate._

_Fate comes to us all._

_There are some things, that once they have started, can never be undone. Sherlock had sensed this multiple times while working this case, but he ignored it, ignored the hints. He had hoped, that it wouldn't turn out this way, hoped so desperately...for an alternate ending._

_"You made a vow," John reminded him, as if he needed reminding. If Sherlock could cry, he would have shed tears, he would have cried. However, sometimes the body gets so shocked, so distraught, that even tears can't relieve the pain inside. The mind eats itself from the inside, the body too slow to help itself._

_"You **swore** it," another dagger to the detective. He didn't need any more of this pain. Pain is funny like that, it comes when it isn't asked for, like a warning to yourself. However, if you have ignored this warning so many times, gained sentiment, then when pain finally breaks through the wall you've built, it storms through you, crushing everything, for that is the pain through the years that you have ignored. That pain, that you thought you didn't feel, is there, waiting, lurking in the waters, for the right moment to break the wall._

_Sherlock made a vow he had failed to keep. Mary had died, Sherlock felt the fire burning through him, the fire of feelings._

_I will burn you, **burn the heart**  out of you._

_I will make you the same as me, Sherlock._

_Why does anyone do anything?_

_BECAUSE THEY'RE **BORED**._

_You know that, don't you? Of course, because, you're me, Sherlock. You. **Are**. Me._

_Sherlock hushed his mind, his memory, or a mixture of thereof. He silenced it, perhaps this was what Jim Moriarty had planned next. This was only the beginning._

_This isn't a game anymore._

_This is life._

_He would need John back to face Jim._

_The brain, without the heart, can do nothing but rot alone._

...

Sherlock ran, panting, the sidewalk beneath him had a crack that he failed to notice, made him fall. His mind was processing what Molly had just said. No, no, Sherlock, get it together. John didn't mean that as harshly as it sounded. There has to be some explanation. Some  _logical_ explanation. Sherlock, think. Thinking is what you are good at.  _Think_.

But what if that was just exactly how he intended?

Sherlock beat the ground with his fist, people passed him, thinking he might be crazy. No one recognized the great detective without his sidekick. No one bothered to help, to ask what was wrong. This was the world he lived in, the uncaring, cruel, world.

His hand hurt, bleeding probably, Sherlock couldn't care less about that. He just wanted to see John, to get his point across, to try and help.

Why was he so useless? Why couldn't he help the person who had saved his life in so many different ways?

Why couldn't he do such a simple thing?

Sherlock stood up, continued to walk along the path, with no direct destination in mind. The probability of meeting John by pure chance was slim. Sherlock had no other options, he had to believe in that small percentage. Things were only going to get worse. Sherlock needed John to motivate him to try and survive this new foe. If there was no John, there would be no will to live.

John sat, on a park bench, staring at the grass, the trees, the sun about to fall. The sun, that would set, that would fall, just like he would. The sun can rise again, however, John didn't wish to. The darkness was his friend, unlike Sherlock. What was Sherlock to him?

After his wedding, after the flash-drive, after all of that, John made his list.

This list of don'ts...

 _Don't_ forgive Mary.

 _Don't_ leave Mary, you have a child after all.

 _Don't_ let Mary  ** _die_**.

 _Don't **lose**_ Sherlock.

 _Don't_ think he doesn't care.

But most of all,  _don't love Sherlock Holmes_.

"John," the male looked up. His dead eyes stared at the face of Sherlock Holmes, the man he wanted least to see right now. John didn't understand himself why seeing Sherlock was so painful for him, he knew already it wasn't his fault. He knew that but, there was something inside him that wanted to be left alone.

John turned his attention back to the grass, to the trees, he hoped Sherlock would catch the hint, that he would leave. John didn't want to think about the relief, the pain, the mixture of painful emotions he had seen on the detective in that short time frame. What about himself? What did he look like right now? A lifeless doll, he suspected.

What did Sherlock think he looked like?

Sherlock had called out to John accidentally, he didn't want John to get up and leave upon realizing he was there, but the male didn't do that. Sherlock was relieved but more than anything he had to speak. He had to apologize, somehow, Sherlock had a list of things he wanted to say but nothing seemed like enough. The last time he needed to apologize to John he had pretended their lives were in danger. Sherlock remembered the look on John's face when he said there was a switch on the bomb to turn it off.

Unfortunately, the time for the silly lights was upon him. He didn't know at all how to fix the mess he had made. Sherlock stood there, watching John as John looked forward. The doctor didn't say a word but his face gave it all away.

He didn't want Sherlock there.

Sherlock should leave.

John stood up, Sherlock panicked, he couldn't let this chance slip by. This chance was what he had bet his whole day on.

" _John_ ," he called out again, the doctor didn't say anything, trying his best to ignore him. John had broken his list of don'ts. He had forgiven Mary, allowed the woman into his life again. He had given her a second chance. A second chance that she destroyed with more of her lies. John had left Mary. His heart couldn't belong to her anymore, the thought that she would hurt him again was too strong.

John let Mary die.

Three of his don'ts were already gone. But he still had three left.

John hadn't moved once he stood up, he just took many deep breaths, opening and closing his fists. Sherlock's brain still couldn't find the right words. John realized that the detective had come to fix things in some way. John knew that Sherlock might as well be dead without him.

_Don't lose Sherlock._

He reminded himself. The doctor looked at Sherlock. He walked towards him, once again he noticed the fear, the torture, every single emotion on the male's face, it hurt just to look at the pain he had caused. That wasn't what he wanted to happen, not how he meant things to go...he could tell himself that but John knew some part of him wished for the pain to be shared equally among them.

The doctor wrapped his arms around the detective, giving them both the hug they needed. Sherlock stood stiffly, unsure of what had just happened. Was this John? Was John hugging him? But John had gotten up, to leave, so why was John here? Why was John hugging him? What is a hug even? Two males hugging in a park at sunset, that was an odd picture. Did John want to be called gay again?

_Don't lose Sherlock._

John smiled, of course he couldn't. Losing meant leaving, John wasn't going to leave, not now, not while the biggest danger the two would ever face began.

_Don't think he doesn't care._

John laughed, he knew Sherlock. He was the only one that knew Sherlock. The only one in the world that even came close to understanding that idiot. Yes, that's right,  _the idiot_ , Sherlock was one. He didn't care how smart of an idiot Sherlock was, he was still an idiot through and through.

_But most of all, don't love Sherlock Holmes._

This was the one that confused John the most. He had added this to the list, unsure exactly of what it meant. Love was a silly word that took so many different forms. Friendship. Physical. Emotional. Significant Others. What exactly was John telling himself not to do? He already loved Sherlock, as a friend, a close friend, but not exactly a brother.

Love.

John looked up at Sherlock, who was staring straight ahead. John could see the gears turning inside that brain of his, Sherlock didn't understand what John was doing. Sherlock didn't know John like John knew Sherlock.

"Sherlock," John said. Some of the light had come back to his eyes. John had broken his last don't but would continue to keep the other two.

Love.

The English language understands.

You can't attach a definition to a word that can have that many different meanings. There would be too many words.

John smiled.

"J-John?"

John hugged Sherlock tighter before separating the two, "the game is on, Sherlock Holmes."

"This isn't a  _game_ anymore," Sherlock warned.

"You're wrong," John said, "for this is the biggest game  _we've_  ever faced."

Sherlock smiled, his many layer of emotions reduced to just two.

Happiness.

Love.

The only two emotions John ever wanted to see.


End file.
